Frivolous
by the ramblin rose
Summary: Richonne, one shot. Even if they're not necessary, sometimes the frivolous things in life remind us that we're still living.


**AN: Hi there! This was a request from Tumblr. It's just for fun/entertainment value so don't expect anything too profound.**

 **I own nothing from the Walking Dead.**

 **I hope that you enjoy! Let me know what you think!**

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It was a quick and easy supply run. The town was spread out enough that the buildings, despite their strip-mall reminiscent construction, didn't create too much of a problem when it came to dormant Walkers breaking free from a store and bunching up on the would-be gatherers.

"In and out" had been Glenn's description of how the run would go and he'd been entirely correct. Despite the fact that they'd taken some rather green Alexandrians out to give them run experience, Michonne couldn't help but feel as though they didn't even need her. Instead of feeling like she was there to save lives, she felt like almost like she was there for decoration. She was a symbol of safety—a living security blanket.

And she liked it that way. It meant they were getting stronger. They were getting smarter. And it meant that she could slip away without notice, guilt, or explanation.

A small town strip-mall's shop for ladies called "Unmentionable" would probably not offer the nicest selection of items that Michonne had ever had access to, but in a world where many of them were accustomed to simply wearing whatever they could find, it would at least offer something that was a little nicer than the cotton panties they grabbed out of small stores in packs of three.

Inside the store, Michonne found the place to be Walker-free and virtually untouched. This was the last concern of those who were simply trying to survive from day to day. It was another status symbol of how far they'd come. They could afford to be frivolous. First, Michonne picked through the items that were of particular interest to her. She packed her selections into the bottom of the bag she carried. Then, to finish up, she finished filling the bag with an assortment of other nice things. She hoped it was enough to offer each of the women in her "family" at least one nice garment to call their own. Everyone, she reasoned, deserved at least one frivolous garment—even if nobody saw it—that allowed them the chance to simply feel attractive, even if it was absolutely ridiculous.

Her selections made and people waiting, people who might have realized that she was gone by now, Michonne left the store and headed back to where the van was parked. Glenn was standing outside of the back of the vehicle and was loading in what appeared to be the last of the boxes that they'd salvaged from the main store they'd hit. Everyone else was already inside the crowded van and gave off the appearance that Glenn and Michonne were responsible for taking them on some kind of church field trip to get toilet paper, toothpaste, and anything else that anyone might possibly be able to use.

"No problems?" Michonne asked as she walked up. Glenn visibly jumped at her voice and then shook his head at her when his moment of surprise had passed.

"Where'd you go?" He asked.

"Just to grab a few things," Michonne replied.

"Find what you need?" Glenn asked.

"I think so," Michonne said, not wanting to leave him much time or room to question her actions. "Let's head back?"

Glenn nodded his acceptance of her suggestion and Michonne waved her hand toward the van to tell him that she'd follow after him.

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Standing in front of the full length mirror that hung on the back of the closet door, Michonne wasn't entirely sold on the outfit. Or, maybe, she just wasn't entirely sold on how the outfit fit her body. It wasn't the best made garment in the world—though she'd kept her expectations low—and it was a bit snug in some odd places while it seemed to have entirely too much fabric in others. The only way to remedy it, though, would be to get someone to alter it for her and she had neither time nor patience for that.

Her body had changed a great deal. Maybe she just simply hadn't realized how much until she was in front of the mirror and dressed in something that, at least faintly, reminded her of a world that she'd left behind—a life that was little more than memory now.

She looked like herself, but she didn't look exactly like the woman that the garment stirred to memory.

She'd always considered herself to be trim. She'd always had something of an athletic build. She'd enjoyed some sports growing up and she'd gotten rather good at tennis while working at the firm. She'd had a trainer who'd pushed her to do more "muscle exercises" and more "toning exercises" even though she'd hated the repetition of movements that were so strategically planned and brought such slow visible reward. And then pregnancy had changed her body a great deal. Most of the traces, though, of the extra pounds and the added softness from that time in her life were gone now.

The life she had now changed her body even more dramatically than anything ever had before.

The white lace teddy almost looked like it didn't _belong_ on her body now, even if she'd been no stranger to wearing such things before the world changed. It looked alien. It seemed too delicate and, even though she'd grabbed it to be something entirely _frivolous_ , it seemed almost too ridiculous. The softness of it almost made her self-conscious of the hardness of her body in places. In fact, it almost made her want to simply take the garment off and accept her body just as it was—without trying to force it into the lace wrapping she'd chosen to put on it.

 _Almost_.

She reminded herself that the lingerie wasn't just for her. She reminded herself that she'd gotten it for Rick. And, more than that, she reminded herself that Rick would, hopefully, judge her much less harshly than she was judging herself. Maybe he'd appreciate the outfit for what it was—a gesture. It was simply a novelty to give him a glance at a side of her that he hadn't seen yet.

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Rick came straight into the house and walked up the stairs to rid himself of the dirt and sweat that he'd accumulated during a day of work. The fatigue from the day and the soreness of his muscles didn't bother him today. It had been a good day. The work that he'd been doing was work—plain and simple—to help everyone get the farming system of Alexandria up and running. There'd been no one to fear, no one to fight with, and no one to kill.

 _It was a good day._

He'd take this kind of tired—an exhaustion that almost gave him its own supply of energy—over the tired that he'd felt _before_ any day.

Rick called out Michonne's name, but he got no response. He figured that she was out, probably helping to sort items at the pantry from the run that she'd gone on, and she hadn't made it back to the house. He'd seen her when they'd come back, out the corner of his eye more than anything, and she'd seemed pleased enough that he wasn't too concerned. The run had gone well. There were no casualties and there was nothing to report. She was, more than likely, just finding a way to keep herself busy for the rest of the day.

Rick showered under the spray of mostly cool water to lower his body temperature. He took his time and washed away the grime of the day, relaxation setting in as he did. When he was satisfied that he was clean, he slipped out of the shower and toweled off before he wrapped the towel around his waist.

Rick jumped when he came into the bedroom and found Michonne there, reclining on the bed, her dreadlocks tied up, and wearing a lacy white garment that he'd never seen before. She shifted, rolling to the side, and smiled at him. He reminded himself to close his mouth from the overall shock of the moment.

"You know, you shower longer than any woman ever has," Michonne said. "If we ever have a water shortage around here? I could turn you in for the showers you take."

Rick laughed in spite of himself. Those weren't the words he'd been expecting. Even if he wasn't sure what he expected her to say, he knew that wasn't quite it. Still, the normalcy of it immediately brought him back from his momentary stupor.

"And I could turn you in for the damage you do to the toothpaste supply," Rick said. "I don't think it's necessary for anyone to brush their teeth six times a day."

Michonne showed him, as something of a reward for a witty comeback, the teeth that she kept very clean since they'd found a place that allowed them such luxuries on such a regular basis.

"Run went well?" Rick asked. Michonne nodded. "You got this on the run or...?" She nodded again. Before Rick could say anything, though, she interrupted him with her own line of questioning.

"Feel good to be _Farmer Grimes_ again?" She asked. Rick laughed to himself. He nodded, though.

"Can't complain," he said. "Working to grow things for my family. Working to know we're going to eat. This place isn't going anywhere. Feels pretty good."

"I never would've seen myself anywhere even near the category of the farmer's wife," Michonne said.

Rick shook his head.

"I don't think this is the image that _anyone_ ever had for the farmer's wife," Rick said.

Even as he formed the words, tasting them and realizing that he liked rolling them around in his mouth, he wondered if Michonne made the connection between those words and their reality. She wasn't his wife—at least not officially. He didn't even know if such a thing really existed anymore, but she was close. As close as she could be—even if it would be rushing things, and that was only assuming that there was such a thing as _rushing_ anything anymore given that time was something so extremely fragile these days. If marriage did exist, still, Rick found he wasn't as opposed to the idea of it as he might've once been.

 _It didn't scare him. Not like he thought it might._

Rick walked over to the bed and sat on the edge of it, still holding his damp towel in place, mostly to hide the fact that just seeing her reclining there had somewhat piqued his interest. Michonne pulled her lips together to cover her smile, but it didn't last for long. Rick rested his hand on her hip and she quickly covered his hand with her own.

"So this—came from the run?" Rick asked.

Michonne nodded.

"I thought you were going for practical things," Rick teased. "Food—toilet paper."

"And we got those," Michonne asserted. "But I thought there was room for a few _frivolous_ items. It was safe and there was time."

Rick hummed at her and moved his hand up to rest in the curve of her waist. He slid it back to rest on her back, wondering for himself where the magical clasps were that even held her into the garment. After all, he might need to know that later—as long as he played his cards right.

"If this is frivolity, then I like it," Rick said. "Do I get the full show or...?"

Michonne pushed his hand off by the simple movement of her body. She pulled herself into a sideways sitting position and supported herself with her arm. She raised her eyebrows at him and, for a moment, he thought he might get some kind of lecture given her facial expression.

"This is a very, very _cheap_ piece of lingerie," Michonne said. "And it does not—in any way—fit the way that it's supposed to fit."

Rick stifled his own humor—mostly at the tone of her voice—and nodded his head to attempt to hold onto the same serious tone that she was employing. He cleared his throat to make sure that none of his laughter would escape.

"Well I'll keep that in mind," he said.

She moved around on the bed and Rick changed his own position so as not to impede her movement. She slipped off the bed and Rick watched as she pulled and tugged at places on the garment to either find more comfort in the thing—which honestly didn't look like it could be very comfortable—or to adjust it so that, aesthetically, it was more pleasing to her. Then she walked away from him with the stance of a runway model and turned, popping her hand on her hip. The movement in itself, apparently, amused her because she smiled broadly and put her hand over her mouth for a second to cover the expression.

And more beautiful than the piece of lace that she called ill-fitting, even if Rick couldn't see its flaws, was the smile that it brought across her features.

"Amazing," Rick said.

Michonne tugged a little more at the outfit, shifting her hips from side to side in something of a low-key dance, and hummed.

"Then you really would've liked some of the ones I used to have," she mused.

"I wasn't talking about the outfit," Rick said. "But it's nice too. I'd entirely support the idea if you wanted to pick up something else on a run. Maybe even something you like _better_."

Michonne came back to him now, not entirely abandoning her runway walking style, but this time doing it with a little more confidence and a little less put-on effort. She put her arms loosely on his shoulders and Rick caught her waist in his hands, the rough spots of skin there grabbing and picking at the lace.

"These are the kinds of things that we don't _need_ anymore," Michonne said.

She could have just as easily been speaking about their relationship as she was about the garment. Many of them had gotten set on survival and, in that setting, things went by the wayside. Romance seemed to be one of the first to go. Now that they were getting settled, though, and there seemed to be some hope for the future, it was one of the first signs that they were all getting comfortable.

Love was frivolous, but it was something that they could afford now.

"We've always had things that we don't need," Rick said. "Things that we have just to enjoy. And it looks like we're finally getting back to that."

"It's a waste of time and energy," Michonne said. "We could spend it gathering other things."

"We do both," Rick said. "There are enough hands to go around and more people who are capable of going after things."

Michonne kissed him and Rick pulled her to him to deepen the kiss. He slipped his hands around to massage at the skin where her thighs and buttocks met. He teased the edges of the lace garment with his fingertips, feeling the contrast between the roughness of the lace and the softness of her silky skin. Her breathe caught before she even broke the kiss.

"It's frivolous," Michonne said, her voice softer and almost breathy. "Something we could do without."

Rick hummed at her, surprised at the gravel-like quality of his own voice.

"I can agree with one thing," he said. "It's something we can definitely do without. I just—haven't figured out where this damned thing fastens."


End file.
